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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714734">frayed ribbons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Arthurian Mythology</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, tldr mordred is going nuts over galahads soft thighs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:28:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They find their ways around the concept of virginity, which is a flimsy one, anyways.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Galahad/Mordred (Arthurian)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>frayed ribbons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Galahad knows what he’s doing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Thin lace wraps around the pale skin of his thighs, peeking out of the edges of his stockings — he looks soft there, with the way the garters press so into his skin. Otherwise he’s fully covered. The blouse he wears is ornately decorated in lace and frills, and if that weren’t already there to cover him up his long, strawberry blond hair would be. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Well,” he shakily straddles Mordred’s lap, “How do you like it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Then it comes: That telltale blush Mordred has grown to love, with Galahad turning his face away in bashfulness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “All dressed up for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I thought you’d like it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Of course I do.” He brings down a hand to rest on the on the outline of his hip, fingers tipped against taut skin through the thin silk fabric of his tunic. It’s better this way. If Galahad has more to hide, that means there’s more left to the imagination. And it really is, Mordred notes in delight, with the way Galahad stiffens and how his arms rise from his sides to wrap around Mordred’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You look so good in red — ribbons, too. It’s such a shame I can’t actually have my way with you here and now.” He loops the end strand of a ribbon around one finger, purposeful in how he digs one of his short-cut nails into that soft, soft skin as his hand ghosts over Galahad’s thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I wish you could, too. But we’ll find a way around it. We always seem to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Galahad turns to look at him with pitying brown eyes, sharply nudging his hips against Mordred’s legs. He tips his head up and guides Galahad’s lips against his — he tastes bittersweet and a little sour, like the peels from the orange he’d been devouring earlier. He tastes like comfort, of what is sweet and not pure but still very true. One hand drifts away from where he’s wrapped around Mordred’s shoulders to between his legs. Neat, hard nails run up and down Mordred through his trousers, snagging on fabric and struggling to eliminate the pesky barrier of fabric that separates them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Cool air hits Mordred’s skin when Galahad pulls his trousers down just enough. He gently guides Galahad’s hand away from him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “So… have you figured out a way around this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Of course I have. What,” he pulls Galahad closer to him by the hair, rewarded by a lilting yelp, “kind of fool do you take me for?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Mordred rejoices at the feeling of sliding between Galahad’s soft, supple thighs, soft fabric of his garters and undergarments covering him up dragging against Mordred’s own skin. He can tell just how hard Galahad is when he presses up against him, poking into his stomach. This is the closest intimacy they can share at the moment — one day, when all is said and done, Galahad will be able to come to him if he wants to. He rubs experimentally between Galahad’s legs, fingers still all wrapped up in his hair. For now, this is what they’ll have to settle for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Tell me—” Galahad’s voice trembles “—tell me what you’d do to me if you could.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He wets his lips with his tongue. <em>The things I could do to you if I could…</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> So Mordred spills out his secrets to him, as he slides back and forth between Galahad’s legs and listens to those sweet sounds of bliss he lets out in response. He pulls down his shorts to expose him, too — it isn’t fair, otherwise, and he’s already got his stockings and blouse to hide everything else.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’d tie you up by your wrists,” he whispers, “Against the bed, all helpless until I’d come for you. You’re smart enough to undo the ropes without even having to cut through them proper. But you wouldn’t. You’d be good for me until I got back. I’d be your first, have your legs wrapped around me and take you proper. You <em>would </em>be good for me, wouldn’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Maybe I’d want the other knights to watch. ‘Galahad the Pure’— ha!” His lips curl into a smug grin, he knows what no one else does, Galahad’s thighs are so gorgeously soft around him, purity’s fake “—I’d have you on your hands and knees while I rut into you. The other knights would see that you’re not so pure and innocent — at least not for me. You’d be crying out in pleasure, I’d pull you by the hair to let you know when I want something from you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Galahad clings to him as though he’s a lifeline. Those cries he lets out are nothing short of musical.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Or maybe I wouldn’t move at all. I’d have myself sheathed inside you while we don’t do much of anything. Keep me warm. You wouldn’t move — I wouldn’t allow it. Maybe you’d be desperate for me to move inside of you, but it’d be better that way.” His finger loops under the ribbon keeping his stockings suspended and he lets it snap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Mordred! If — if you keep saying things like that, I’ll—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Good.” </em>Mordred starts to grow uneasy, and he seeks affirmation with, “Would you like me to do all that to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I would…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Mark up that pretty skin of yours with bite marks? Dig my teeth into your flesh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He can tell Galahad is nodding by the way his long hair rustles over Mordred’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You were right,” he breathes, “I like it when you’re rough. I don’t like being treated like some fragile little doll to be protected.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “And I like being rough with you.” He takes advantage of Galahad’s proximity, nipping lightly at the shell of his ear. “I’d like to leave you painted in bruises and marks — my handiwork. So that even when I’m finished with you, you’d remember all I did. I can’t do that now. We musn’t risk anyone else knowing. But that will change eventually…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> When he comes Galahad squeezes him even tighter, gasping at the stickiness suddenly dripping down his legs. Several short, hiccuping whines later he follows suit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Did you enjoy that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Mmm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He slumps so that his cheek rests on Mordred’s shoulder. “That was a yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>One day we’ll be able to dissolve the barriers. One day we will. But for now…</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m glad.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please note, as listed on my profile already: comments are disabled because i don't want to get any adults who might come across my work in trouble for interacting with me through explicitly sexual content! i want to write explicit content, but i know that it is also just as important to keep myself safe.</p><p>...starting off 2021 in terms of fanfic right with some galahad/mordred smut :] there is a sore lack of submissive galahad as of late and as a big fan of submissive galahad, i have to fix that.</p><p>also i had 'flesh' by simon curtis playing in the background as i wrote this. note to self: playing sexual songs on loop in the background of fic writing does WONDERS when it comes to finishing a thing.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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